


At One Time

by springbreeze



Category: Senyuu.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-04
Updated: 2014-05-04
Packaged: 2018-02-15 04:56:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2216580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/springbreeze/pseuds/springbreeze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He thinks he was probably happy, then. /Happy birthday, Sion. 5/4.</p>
            </blockquote>





	At One Time

_The funny thing is, they still can’t get it right._

* * *

“Shii-tan! Shii-tan!”

He takes his eyes off the axe and looks over his shoulder to see Crea waving frantically at him, jacket-shirt flapping as he runs over.

“What do you want?” Sion asks irritably, turning away and lifting the axe again to slam it down on an unfortunate piece of wood. “Weren’t you supposed to be busy all day?”

“Whoa! I thought you’d be happier to see me after I said I couldn’t hang out,” Crea pouts. “Are you sure you weren’t crying—ugh!” He falls dramatically to the grass when Sion effortlessly kicks his legs out from under him, and chops another log without missing a beat. “Uwah, you really are mad, aren’t you?”

“It’s love. Love, you know?” Crimson eyes glance down amusedly at the older boy lying stretched out on the ground. “So? I’m busy. Did you finish whatever it is you were doing then?”

“Yep! That’s why I came to get you.” Rolling to his feet, Crea picks up one of the finished bundles of wood and hefts it onto his back, extending his hand. “Come on! Uncle said we have to hurry for this.”

Setting the axe aside, Sion frowns as he gathers the pile of wood and lifts it onto his own back. “You were working together on something?” He recalls morning, having expected to see his father slumped asleep at his desk with his experiments instead of in bed as usual, but to his surprise, Rchimedes had been well and awake, uncharacteristically nervous and fidgety. “He really wanted me to leave the house for some reason.”

“Haha, I wonder why?” The teasingly superior ‘I-know-something-you-don’t’ tone of Crea’s voice annoys him, and Sion promptly punches his best friend in the face. “Ow!”

They make their way through the village, waving back at the people who call out greetings. When they arrive, Crea sets his bundle of wood down by the wall and stacks Sion’s on top before motioning for him to stay back. “I’ll let you know when you can come in,” Crea calls mischievously, and Sion is highly tempted to kick him through the door. He waits outside as told, watching a yellow bird in a nearby tree sing its little heart out, and wonders about Crea and his father’s suspicious behavior.

“Shii-taaan!” Without further invitation, Sion turns the doorknob and slips into his strangely dim house. The curtains have been drawn for some reason, and he can only make out indistinguishable shapes.

Suddenly, there are two loud popping sounds and the sound of the curtains being rapidly shoved aside, letting blinding sunlight in through the window. Sion shields his eyes, and when his vision adjusts, sees his father and Crea with firecrackers in their hands, ridiculous pointy hats on their heads, and proudly gesturing to a dubious lump of something melting and covered in candles on the table.

“Happy birthday, Shii-tan (Sion)!” They say cheerfully in unison, while Sion can only blink bemusedly and in utter confusion.

“…Is it my birthday?”

“I told you, Crea-kun!” Rchimedes exclaims triumphantly, placing his hands on his hips and laughing, not unkindly. “He remembers everything but his own birthday.”

“Well, that’s why the surprise worked, right?” Crea slaps a high-five with the labcoat-wearing man, his grin bright enough to light up the room even if it were night. “Sorry for keeping it from you, Shii-tan! We were busy getting all of this ready. Doesn’t the cake look great?!” Pulling Sion by the wrist to the table, Crea points at the alleged cake and beams.

“…”

Sion stares at the lopsided cake, at the tilted candles, skims over the hastily written card ( _“Happy birthday! From Papa and Crea”_ ), glances over at his father and his best friend in their silly getup, and sends an uppercut to both of their jaws.

“Oof!”

“Ow!”

His face and ears are burning, and something in his stomach is fluttering frantically. But Sion smiles, just a little, and mutters a quiet “Thank you”.

* * *

“…-sion-san? …-sion-san? Creasion-san!”

He jolts awake to a vividly red gaze staring—not with malice, but with quiet concern.

And Creasion breathes out in a long sigh, pressing a hand to his face. “Rchimedes. What is it?”

The cloaked man with shockingly blond hair clears his throat anxiously, before announcing, “There was a sighting of the Demon Lord in a village to the north. If we move fast, we should be able to encounter him.”

“Let’s go then.” Creasion climbs to his feet immediately, rubbing his sore neck. It appears that exhaustion has caught up with him after all, if the tree he fell asleep against is any indication. How dangerous.

“Er, Creasion-san?” Rchimedes hovers behind him nervously, almost like a chick following its mother. The image is strange in more ways than one. “Are you all right? You looked troubled in your sleep.”

“Hm.” He responds tonelessly, with little room for argument. There is no desire to discuss such a meaningless memory.

“Was it a nightmare?”

Creasion pauses in his tracks, ignoring the demon’s exclamation of surprise at the sudden stop. He thinks about blue skies, closed doors, and absentminded comments. He thinks about bundles of chopped wood, a warm hand around his wrist, and a yellow bird. He thinks about a clumsily made cake, multiple attempts to light half-used candles, curtains catching on fire, huge smiles, and the sound of bright laughter.

He thinks he was probably happy, then.

“…No,” Creasion answers at last, and continues walking. “It was a nice dream.”


End file.
